


Angels, Assassins, and Sentient Bondage Gear

by DunningKrugerExplainsEverything



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2475140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunningKrugerExplainsEverything/pseuds/DunningKrugerExplainsEverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angela is a Huntress of Heven. She is proud. Dignified. Noble. Majestic.<br/>The Guardians of the Galaxy must never know that she and Gamora are frantically screwing each other every spare moment they have.<br/>Angela and Gamora romance/humour ficlet. Contrary to the title, there is nothing overly graphic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels, Assassins, and Sentient Bondage Gear

**Disclaimer: Angela, Gamora, Rocket Raccoon, Groot and the Guardians of the Galaxy are the intellectual property of Disney/Marvel. No copyright infringement intended.**

 

**If you are reading my big fic, 'Hooked on a Peeling', then you can consider this Chapter 7.**

 

**Gamora and Angela spend the bulk of this fic in a state of undress. Much naughtiness ensues, though nothing graphic.**

 

**Angels, Assassins, and Sentient Bondage Gear**

 

“So,” Angela said. “How does your heart work?”

Angela and Gamora were lying on the bed. Angela was resting on her side, her head propped up in her palm, flame red hair spilling all about. Gamora was sprawled on her back, limbs stretched lazily, wantonly out. The bedclothes were all tossed and twisted about beneath them, pillows strewn around.

Gamora's clothes were dumped carelessly on the floor. Boots, top, shirt, pants, bra, thong, all lying in a heap on the ground, crumpled and creased.

Angela's clothes were neatly arranged in a corner. Headpiece, chestpiece, pauldrons, gloves, vambrace, belt, all ordered tidily on a chair. Angela's boots, left and right, carefully set on the ground next to them, sword and scabbard, leaning against the wall.

Here and there throughout the room, candles were burning. On a table, incense was rising from a censer, its aroma filling the entire place. In the background, music was quietly playing. Strings. Chimes. Chanting.

Gamora fluttered her eyelids in confusion. “My heart?” she said.

Angela nodded. “Yes,” she said, as if it was the most obvious question in the world. “I wish to know how your heart works.”

Gamora pondered this for a moment. “My heart pumps blood through my body,” she said. She raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to cut it out of my chest, so that I can show you?”

Angela reached forward, and prodded Gamora on the shoulder. “That is _not_ what I meant,” she said.

Gamora reached forward, and prodded Angela back. “Then what _did_ you mean?” she replied.

Angela pushed herself onto her ass, and sat cross-legged on the bed, facing Gamora. “Every person's heart beats differently,” she said, pushing her hair over her shoulders. “No one is exactly the same. We all desire different things. We all yearn and long for different things...different sorts of people. Different sorts of _lover._ What of you? What manner of person do you long for, Lady Gamora?”

 _Oh._ Angela was talking about _sexuality,_ wasn't she?

What was Gamora's sexuality?

Gamora joined her hands across her chest, and peered up at the ceiling, as she wondered what to say. “I...I don't really give it much thought, honestly,” she said, with a shrug. “I'm pretty open-minded, I guess. I like men and women. I like people who don't fall into either of those categories. I've had lovers with red skin, and blue skin, and purple skin. I've been with lovers with wings, and four arms, and twenty legs. I've been with lovers that slithered about like snakes.” She gave a snort. “I'm not very _discriminating_ , I guess. As long as they're _hot.”_

Gamora glanced to her side. Angela was peering at her, utterly absorbed with what Gamora was telling her.

“Does your heart become _jealous_ , Lady Gamora?” Angela asked, next.

Gamora frowned. “No, not really,” she said. “Not at all, actually. I'm not...I'm not _territorial_ , in that way, I suppose. If one of my lovers wanted to see other people, I wouldn't have a problem. I've had multiple lovers at the same time, myself. A boyfriend on this planet, a boyfriend on that planet, a girlfriend on this space station...it's a nice little arrangement to have...”

Gamora looked at Angela. There was the slightest hint of _uncertainty_ on Angela's face.

Gamora smirked, then, and reached out to rub her hand on Angela's knee. “Don't worry, though,” Gamora said. “I know that you're the _monogamous_ type, Angela. You won't have to share me with anyone else. I'm all yours. You can have me aaaaaalllllll to yourself.”

Angela beamed, at hearing this, and Gamora had to fight to keep herself from laughing. Angela had the most adorable, approving _smile_ on her face.

Gamora lay back for a while, and admired the sight of her lover in the candlelight. The light of the flames played on her shoulders, her neck, her arms, her hair. Her legs, her feet, her elbows, her hands. Her eyes, her nose, her fingers, her toes.

“And what about you?” Gamora asked, then. “How does _your_ heart _'_ work' _,_ Angela?”

A faraway expression came over Angela's face. “In order for me to surrender my flesh to another,” she began, “I must first know their soul. In order for my heart to desire someone, I must first become familiar with their spirit.”

_With their spirit._

_In other words,_ Gamora thought, _if Angela wants to screw someone, she has to become emotionally attached to them, first. I've always known that Angela is not the kind of woman who has one night stands. She's not the kind of woman who indulges in anonymous, emotionless trysts. Angela doesn't get drunk, and then wake up the next morning in strangers' beds. She only gets into bed with people that she loves._

_People that she loves._

There was silence, for a little while...and then Gamora was pushing herself off her back, and clambering onto her knees. Angela offered no resistance as Gamora took her face in both hands, and kissed her on the mouth, a moment going by, and then another, and then another, and then another, tongues pushing together, teeth grazing at lips. Angela gave no resistance as Gamora pulled her closer, circling her arms around her waist, hands roaming over her back, her sides, her shoulders, her ass, her legs.

Gamora moved downwards. She began kissing Angela on her neck, her shoulders, her chest, her belly, kissing, and licking, and sucking, and biting. Angela groaned, and sighed, and arched her spine, and threw back her head...and then, suddenly, Gamora was kissing her on the mouth again.

The kiss lingered, and then lips parted, and Angela peered into Gamora's eyes.

“Tell me,” Gamora whispered. “What's your heart doing, now?”

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Angela's caste marks were ruined.

The red streaks of lightning, projecting out from her eyes – Gamora had taken a wicked, wanton glee in _destroying_ them. She had pinned Angela down on the mattress, resting her entire weight upon her – legs trapped under knees, shoulders trapped under elbows, belly resting upon belly, wrists pinned against the pillow. “What _in Heven_ are you doing?” Angela had asked, sniggering and snorting as Gamora licked at her eyes, lapping at her face, pushing her tongue into one of her eye sockets.

“You're too d'asting _perfect,”_ Gamora had replied, rubbing at the red markings with a thumb. “I want to see you _spoiled.”_

When Gamora was done with her, Angela had smudges of red paint smeared around her eyes, messy red blotches dotted across her cheeks and forehead.

When Gamora was done with Angela, her hair was tossed and untidy, tangled and twisted.

When Gamora was done with Angela, she had red gouges across her back, down her sides, down her legs, fingernails dragging and pulling over flesh.

When Gamora was done with Angela, there were dents in the walls.

Angela had incredible regenerative abilities. She always quickly healed.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Angela had one massive advantage over Gamora, of course.

Her ribbons.

Angela's ribbons tied themselves around Gamora's wrists, so that her hands were trapped behind her back.

“This isn't fair,” Gamora said, as Angela forced Gamora onto her back, and began running her tongue over her stomach, her breasts, her legs, wherever she damn well pleased.

Angela's ribbons wrapped themselves around Gamora's wrists and ankles, and then tied her to the bedposts so that she was spread helplessly across the mattress.

“I don't see why you should have this advantage,” Gamora said, as Angela loomed over her, a triumphant smirk on her face.

One night, Gamora sat on the bed, and watched as Angela pulled on a dressing gown, and left the cabin so that she could use the Guardians' communal bathroom.

Angela left her ribbons behind. They were twisted and coiled around the headboard of the bed, slithering and crawling over the bars like serpents.

“Look,” Gamora quietly said. “You...you don't have to _gang up_ on me, okay? You know, you...you could actually _take my side,_ sometimes! Did you ever think of that?”

The ribbons pointed themselves at Gamora, as though a nest of snakes were all gazing at her.

“Tie Angela up, for a change!” Gamora said. She cast a guilty eye towards the door. “She'll enjoy it, I swear! Just try it and see!”

The ribbons simply stared at her. It wouldn't have surprised Gamora if they started making _hissing_ sounds.

Angela returned. The bathrobe was discarded across a chair.

Angela's ribbons whipped around Gamora's wrists, and hung her from a beam in the ceiling.

“Oh, for krutack's sake!” Gamora cried, as Angela laughed.

 

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

 

Gamora couldn't care less if the rest of the Guardians knew that she was having sex. Very often, in the past, she had brought complete strangers into her cabin whilst the others were present on board the ship. She never cared how much noise she made.

Angela, however, was _far_ more circumspect.

“When you and I are in congress, we shall play music, as loudly as possible, to conceal our doings,” Angela said, in a _very_ insistent tone.

Gamora spluttered with laughter. _“In congress?”_ she said. “Why do you always have to be so high-and-mighty all the time?” Gamora rolled her eyes. _“In congress...”_

Angela narrowed her eyes. _“I do not wish them to know what we are doing,”_ she said, and that was that.

One evening, in the mess room, Rocket pricked his ears, and listened carefully. “What is _that?”_ he said, straining to hear. “Music?”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket listened for a few more seconds. Some sort of classical piece...

Rocket turned his attention back to the piece of machinery that he was tinkering with. “Gamora never plays music in her cabin,” he said. “She and Angela must be screwin', I guess...”

 

**The first time, Gamora played the interstellar equivalent of loud hip hop music, and Angela was unable to sexually perform. She is only able to make love whilst refined, sophisticated music is playing.**

 

**Bendis has had Angela for a year and a half now, and he's never had a character having a conversation with the ribbons.**

 

**I am simultaneously thrilled that Gamora is getting her own solo, and heartbroken that she and Angela might be driven further and further apart.**

 

**Someone asked me if Carol or Venom will feature in my big fic. I...dunno? Maybe? Possibly? I suppose I should research them...**


End file.
